In the Rain
by Katarinea
Summary: He didn't want to leave. He didn't know why she wanted him to. But there was his life - in seven boxes.   promptfic for KakaSaku LJ comm; rated for ideas.


For a contest on the kakasaku LJ community.

Unbeta'd, so probably spectacularly bad. Enjoy.

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"No." Sakura glared angrily at him, angry tears building in her eyes. "Take your things, and get out of here, and stop bawling like a baby." she snapped.

Kakashi stood in the doorway of her tiny house, dripping wet with rain pouring off of his back. His mask was soaked with the rain and he could taste the salt of his tears through his mask, bitter and horrible. They stood there in silence for a moment, the only sound the crash of the thunder and the pounding of the rain.

Finally, he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. She stepped aside to let him inside, and waved one arm towards their - towards _her_ bedroom. He pushed up his headband and marched through the house slowly, his Sharingan cataloging everything one last time.

There was the spot on the couch where she had jumped on him and wrestled down while he had tea in his hand. The stain was still there, faded and barely visible, but he remembered the aftermath of that wrestling match with poignant, vivid clarity - the way she had gasped as he kissed her collarbone, and the way the tea felt against their sweat-soaked skin.

And there, there were the many pocks in the 'kitchen' wall that came from long hours of frustration with their cooking ability. Three shuriken, a kunai, and two and a half senbon were stuck in the wall even now. He wondered absentmindedly what she had been trying to cook that frustrated her so. . . perhaps she had been trying to pickle her own umeboshi, an endeavor that always left her so upset she was nearly in tears.

On the little bookcase full of her books, there were two things that caught his attention. One was the three picture frames. There was that first picture of the original team 7, long fragmented and disassociated from each other. Sasuke was under constant guard, a blinded brood-stallion for Konoha now; Kakashi himself was the leader of ANBU; Sakura had become the most well-known medical ninja in history, surpassing even her mentor; and Naruto. . .Naruto had become the Rokudaime long ago. The second was the picture of team Kakashi, and he found his mind wandering to Sai and Yamato. Yamato had retired to the Academy, and was fast friends with Iruka. He had not seen Sai in some time, and he wasn't sure he cared about him enough to go looking. The last picture frame was of just Sakura and Kakashi, he chasing her through a rice paddy. That one made him almost choke as he remembered the day, and how sweet the kiss he had stolen when he finally caught her had been.

The other thing that caught his attention was a small box, sitting on the bottom shelf. It was closed, but he could see the glimmer of many-colored book jackets through the tiny hole in the top. Seeing the familiar bright orange brought back memories of when Sakura taunted him with his favorite scenes.

There was a spot on the wall, where she had thrown him into it and smashed the flowers he brought her in favor of kissing him. "You've been gone far too long," she had said, eyes gleaming.

He managed to keep his head high through the living room-kitchen, but walking into the bedroom nearly undid him. His clothes, his tools, everything he owned. . .packed into six and a half boxes. The last one was still open, and he could see how it was barely half full of everything he had given her: the dried flowers (appeasement for long missions and forgotten anniversaries), the heirloom jewelry (holiday presents that had come from his mother's jewelry box), the thick sweatshirts and sweatpants (she was always so cold), and even the cookbook he had hand-written for her (full of all their favorite foods and easy ways to cheat preparing them). Kakashi stood and stared at the boxes, a sea full of pain attempting to wash over the wall of numbness he was so valiantly fighting to keep up.

Steps behind him broke him of his dread reverie, and he glanced over his shoulder to see his wife coming in, the picture frame in one arm and the box of Icha Icha in the other. Sakura dumped both into the last box and sealed it with quick, furious movements. "There. That's everything. Now take it and _leave."_ Her stare burned through him.

Some part of his brain was still functioning, and he formed the seal to make shadow clones. Two of them popped into existence beside him and went to pick up the boxes. They both picked up three and left the seventh for him - he moved forward and picked it up robotically. He looked at the box, then at Sakura. Then back to the box. Back to her again. "Sakura -"

"NO! GO!" She picked up something off the bed and threw it at him. It hit him in the face, and he registered seconds later that it was a pair of men's boxers. _Oh. _He pivoted and began the walk through the other room once more, every step bringing memories swimming to the front of his mind.

He paused at the door once more and looked back. Her gaze was as full of fire and vim as it had been before. He walked out into the rain, his clones trailing him. He got halfway down the block before he heard gay laughter behind him. Kakashi turned his head to see the cause, and saw Sakura standing in her doorway with a familiar silhouette. His Sharingan could make out the outlines of a thin, aristocratic nose, and colorless lips curved into a not-so-fake smile. Sai stood there, smiling down at Sakura - _Kakashi's wife -_ and Sakura smiled back. He could remember when she smiled at him like that. . .

Kakashi walked and walked, and walked. He had no idea where he was going, or who he was going to. Eventually one clone dispelled and dropped its boxes, and then the other not long after. He left the boxes behind and wandered in the rain, tears pouring down his face and mixing with the water that soaked the rest of him.

Finally, he stopped and stood for a moment. He fell to his knees and looked up - the cenotaph was in front of him. He stared for several minutes, and then an idea struck him. He dug at the flaps of the box he held and tore it open, only to gently remove the picture of he and Sakura. It laid in his hands for a moment, the picture trembling as he held it, before he pushed the box away and set it on the base of the cenotaph.

Then he sat, and stared, and cried his heart out.


End file.
